Doppelganger
by hyacinthian
Summary: Two men. Love for the same woman. One adores, the other obsesses. One is sane, the other is not. [Character Death]


Title: Doppelganger

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Classification: A, R

Rating: PG-13 (for language)

Disclaimer: CSI does not belong to me. The original, untitled third character does, though.

Author's Note: Hey. This spawned from an idea to write a serial killer fic. Mel helped me elaborate on the idea, and here we are. Some notes to help you avoid confusion. The plain text is the character. The italics is the "doppelganger." Therefore, all thoughts are in bold, unless in direct quotes. This was not beta'd, so please, be kind. Thanks to Mel and Morgan.

* * *

I have found the love of my life. Unlike the others, she is utterly beautiful and intelligent. And I am positive she loves me too. Sometimes, she'll give me a glance or a smile. And I'll smile back. We speak this code, the two of us. It translates into the most beautiful poetry and the most beautiful prose, rolled into one literary super-work. It is impossible for anyone to fathom the love we have for each other, the love we share.

_I cannot believe how lucky I am, how fated we were. She was my ideal, and I fell in love with her again and again. Those luscious eyes, dark and brooding, that can sparkle with the dawn are amazing to gaze into at the very peak of morning. At times, I get lost in them. I can see their lust for life, for love. But she has me now. She has me, and we are content. Yes, she is surprisingly blissful in her domesticity._

Sometimes, I see her, pale flesh exposed to my aching eyes, constantly gazing at her, eyeing her from head to toe. It is amazing how tailored she is to me, how every contour of hers matches mine. It is amazing how we fit, almost like a jigsaw puzzle. This memory takes me back to childhood, and I almost chuckle at the memory. The feel of her, underneath me, writhing at my touch makes me giddy. It is unbelievable how she responds. The endorphins are getting to my head. And I am positive I am not alone.

_I see her, so frail and so real, exposed to me, and only me. I constantly gaze at her, ogling her beauty and grace. She is mine, only mine. I imagine her yelping as I bruise her flesh. Still, she turns around and gazes at me with those eyes. Those luscious, chocolate eyes. She doesn't mind the pain. Anything to be closer to me. Yes, closer to me. We're already one soul, but we have that need. We're Shiva and Vishnu. She creates and I destroy. And I destroy her again and again._

I watch her sometimes, on a particularly harrowing case. She needs me then. On child abuse cases, I can sense her grief. It's stupid how cliché and trite that sounds, but it's true. And sometimes, when I reach my hand out to grasp hers, the way she holds it in her own is enough. It's enough to tell me that we're two socially inept people, one more inept than the other, but we have each other. And whether it's forever or not, it…fits.

_I used to watch her, endlessly. And sometimes, she would look frightened. All I wanted to do was walk over to her in the lab, kick Greg out, and stroke her hair. I would pet her, and whisper in her ear that all was well. **It's all right, my darling. Nothing can hurt you.** I used to go to her apartment. Her windows used to shield out the world. And I knew. I understood. I understood how frightening it was for her, especially after her childhood ordeal. She and I were so close; we were one and the same. When I see her smile, I know it is because she is thinking of our love and me._

At times, the memory of her attempt to leave is too much for me to handle. I retreat to her apartment for a reminder. Not painful reminders, like the mental movies I conjure, but a physical one. She allows me entry for a few minutes and I walk to the same corner I always do. And I gaze at the plant. The plant, still flourishing and still alive. Somewhere in the back of my mind, where I refuse to acknowledge it, I drew a mental link between the plant…and **us**.

_I began to send her gifts in courtship. She was always an old-fashioned kind of girl, I reckoned. She was sweet, but sexy, and dangerous. I grinned at the thought. At first, I debated between lingerie and books. They seemed such opposites of each other. **Would lingerie be too forward? Would books seem too friendly?** I was constantly embroiled in a mental debate. At last, I decided that I would eventually send both. I had selected tasteful lingerie, in violet, and had it gift wrapped with a card. I figured mystery would work and I sent it to her. **A gift to you, my darling. Only death shall part us. Love eternal.** I did not sign it._

I drove her home that night. I watched her walk, her silhouette casting onto the macadam of the parking lot. She walked—no, walked wasn't a graceful enough term. She strided towards her apartment, her hair bouncing gently with her steps. "That woman," I whispered to the silence of the car, "will be the death of me." With that, I noted her retreating figure and drove off.

_I stealthily watched from the parking lot, with binoculars, to gauge her reaction. Would she find me too forward and be shocked? Would she grin shamelessly and cart it into her apartment? It was a little piece of me, a large piece of my wallet. But it was not too good for her. Nothing was too good for my girl. She opened it, picked it up, read the note, opened the box, and I watched her face. Nothing but fear. **Fear?** Why should my girl be afraid of me?_

_I showed up at her apartment one night. The night did not go as I had hoped. I had a long-stemmed red rose, its stem caught between the pages of a newly purchased book. I stood on her doorstep, waiting for her return from work. She walked up and greeted me. "Hey," she started. "Who are you?" My lover knew how to play such games. She was a mysterious little minx, and I loved her all the more for it._

"_No need to play, lover," I replied, with a suave smile. "I'm here." Her eyes opened slightly with fear, but her lips spread in a soft smile._

"_Um, what's your name?" She was pretending to be awkward. I adored her for it. She was so creative, so ingenius, constantly thinking. The gears in her head never stopped turning. One of the facets of this gem that I did not adore quite as much, but I accepted it. If we were to wed, I would have to accept it._

"_No need to pretend any more, lover. I'm here. And we can get married now. I know you were dying for a long courtship. You're such a romantic girl, with such foolish thoughts. But, no matter. We can get married and we can live happily together. For eternity." I whispered the last part. I had thought it would have been extremely romantic of me to do so. Her eyes widened further and she did not look like she was pretending._

"_Who are you?" she whispered in absolute fear. I placed my hand on her shoulder and she roughly brushed it off. What did she think she was doing? To stand a man up by the altar! No one could do this to me! The memories began to race through my head again. All the others. Just like her. She was no different. She had deceived me. She had pretended to love me and now she was leaving. Just like the others. Just like mother. She was leaving, abandoning, constantly pretending. I was caught in her cocoon of lies. _

"_How could you **lie** to me!" I screamed at her. "Was my love not enough for you?" I paused. It was not her. It was Grissom. Yes, it had to be. He had been chasing her for years. His love was malignant. I knew. He would not be good for her. "You were cheating on me. You dirty bitch, you were cheating on me!" _

_Hours later, I found myself still seated at her doorstep. She was so beautiful, tragically beautiful. I pushed a tendril behind her ear. Yes, she was still so beautiful, despite the blood pooled around her head. It was almost a fan. It was almost a painting. Yes, this was a wonderful oil painting, done by one of the greats. De Gas, perhaps. Or Manet. She was a dancer, wasn't she? It fit. De Gas had the perfect models._

_I took the key from her key ring and opened her apartment door. I took her camera and walked back outside. Finding the perfect position, I snapped a few shots from different angles. Yes, she was so startlingly pale against the darker-hued blood. Another name to add to the list. **Sara Sidle. **_

I returned to find her, body splayed on the front step. I felt emotion wriggling its way up to the surface, but there was no need for physical evidence. My heart was breaking. It was too brittle to handle this. I was going to get her, for a pre-work meal. The Vegas sunset illuminates her blood. And in the midst of my torrential emotions, I notice the door is wide open, the keys still in the lock. And then I see it. A bloody footprint in the moist grass. The metaphorical smoking gun. My voice is raspy as I whisper one last promise. "I'll catch him, honey." Science will help me in my vengeance. "Without you…I have no one."


End file.
